by our love

The Bible says that they will know we are believers by our love for one another. How well do we do that? As many of you know, I recently have been up for a position with the national office and the process has been difficult, to say the least. Whenever I speak to my friends who work there about this process, they chuckle and say something like, "yeah, we are not good at that part." Which part? The people part? Seriously?

We are not only called to be stewards of the financial blessings which God has bestowed on us, but also the rich blessing of those things which He made in His own image. What a great benefit to have these creations of the Most High, which we can all take care of, which we can all enjoy. Now, I will grant that some of us (me) are not always enjoyable and I think that someone would have to think outside the box to see me in this position, so I am not complaining if I do not get the position. I am doing alright and do not NEED the job, I just wanted to pour myself into something that I care about and at which many people, myself included, think I have a certain skill. My friend Peter said to me the other day, "One of our values is that lost people matter to God. I wonder if we need to be reminded that found people do also." I don't think this is the context in which he was expressing this thought, but it seems to fit the bill, so I will use it.

Here is my challenge, as much to myself as to you, make it known that people matter. Make it known through your words, but more importantly, make it known through your actions. Treat people as if they are important, as if you see them for the beautiful creations they are, the wonderful gift they are. Treat them with kindness, love, care, truth and goodness. One of my mantras is "live every day as if you really believe what you say you believe." Let us do this in all areas, but mostly in treating others as God sees them, as valuable. I will make it my mission, will you?

your story

This morning after men's group, some of us spent some time talking (okay, I didn't leave until 10am). The subject, among many others, was telling your story, analyzing your story, figuring your story out. This is the element most present in engaging people's hearts and I think it is why Jesus used story so effectively and often. My question is this: Do you think people nned help learning how to identify key elements of their story and how to communicate their story? I have considered some opportunities which may arise to help guide some folks through this and wanted to see if any people who read my little dog-and-pony show have an interest in this endeavor. Also, what are your thoughts on story and how does it effect your impact in the world?

Thanks for any input

Part XXIII

This is the part of the story where I show what a kind and wonderful person I am...or not. Brenda and I were pretty close when we started High School. However, my complete obsession with my own personal interests, to the exclusion of all else, would not hide itself for long. Since all I ever thought about was myself, it made it pretty hard to care about anyone else. It all came to a head on homecoming night. Many girls wore prom-style dresses at our school, because homecoming and the senior prom were the only somewhat formal dances our school had. Since I was 14 and my folks were not the kind to lend a hand to the car-less boy, I agreed to meet Brenda at the dance. Did I buy a corsage? No, I did not. I am pretty sure she bought the tickets, which became a theme in my high school years. When she arrived, she was wearing a very pretty flowered dress, which I guess was just not fancy enough for me. I asked her what she was wearing and asked if she remembered that it was somewhat formal. As I look back on this, knowing more about girls than I did at the time, I realize just how hurtful this was. When I think back on how I must have made her feel, I can do little but cringe at what an incredible, thoughtless, self-centered jerk I was. She cried, I rolled my eyes, we broke up, I danced with some other guy's date all night (yeah, I am sure that made his night also). I was a peach and I wish I could say that was the worst of it, but I went into my jerk stage of life with gusto. I can honestly say, no matter what happened in my upbringing to set me up for failure, every bad deed I have ever done has been a choice of mine. No matter how ill-equipped for life I was, I chose to be a jerk, I chose to think only of myself, I chose to lie, to steal, to cheat and to manipulate. No one made me do it. So, if you ever read this, Brenda...it was all me, I was an ass in the truest sense of the word.

To further increase my standing as the most unreliable person on the planet, I made other decisions that fall. One other that I regret is that I just decided one day to quit football because I didn't feel like going to practice. I went to talk to the coach and told him I was too afraid of being hit. This was such a bald-faced lie, but was pathetic enough that I thought he would not tell the whole team. His answer was fascinating. "Everyone is afraid" he said, "it is what you do with the fear that matters." When I think back on the wisdom that was rained on me by teachers as I grew up and how I just discarded it, I again can not blame anyone but myself for my fortunes going forward. For every bad situation, I had a great one right next to it. I chose, as many people do, to look at the bad and use it as an excuse for evil behavior and evil intent. To paraphrase Robert Frost, I chose the path most taken. There is nothing dignified or noble in this.

It just dawned on me...

...that it has been a few days since my last post. I am not really sure what happened, but I am back at it now. To recap the week: real estate still bites, but things are looking up for some of my deals; my meeting went very well, thanks for the prayers; I actually didn't oversleep and made it to Men's group; I am far too much of a wuss to have gone on the backpacking trip, so I stayed home; Cathy has been very busy with shoots, but is struggling with worry over spending enough family time (let her know that she is a good mom); Doug preached a very good sermon; The search committee lost (in person, not spirit) a member this week as Suzy left for Viet Nam for ten months; Cathy had her fabulous Project Runway party, while Dave & I watched "So you think you can dance"; Zach began his trombone lessons.

Well that is about it for the week. I am not sure I like the story I began to write and haven't the interest in continuing at the moment. I will post another part of my ridiculously long story today or tomorrow. Let me know if you have questions or would like an update on anything!

Cheers!

solo

I am, by all accounts, an introvert at the least and a hermit at the worst. Which is not to say that I don't like being around people, it just drains me. I gain my energy from solitude. However, God says it is not good for us to be alone. I am seeing the benefit of this more and more in my life and this morning in Men's group we discussed it a little bit. I do not go to church to be seen, to be with others or (sorry Doug) to hear a message. I go to church because being around other believers makes my life better, easier, more complete. It is the same reason I go to Men's group. While I enjoy solitude, too much of it brings a sort of separation from reality. It always effects my thought life and my walk with God. Too much separation breeds in me an anger and a seeking after fulfulling my own needs instead of letting God fulfill them. We are God's hands and feet, metaphorically, and how He most often expresses His love is through others. What will you do today to be God's hands? What will I do? I genuinely hope to keep that as the first thought of my day, as long as I have days.

sorry

Hey, folks! I just wanted to apologize for the moderation of posts, but I found it necessary just like my wife did. In these days of spamming blogs to get people to visit yours, I decided to moderate to ensure a clean blog and that people who comment are on topic and actually responding to the blog. Sorry for the inconvenience and if you post a comment, I will post it as soon as I possibly can. Thanks for your understanding.

Part XXII

Early in the morning, after Dad had left for work in Colorado Springs, we snuck out John's window. Our rooms were in the basement since we had renovated the house earlier in the summer. Now we each had our own real rooms, not just rooms made up of hung bed-sheets. During that period of bulding, all three of us teenage boys had moved our beds into the room which had previously been mine and all slept there. Dad had a rule that all of us had to be out of the house by 8 am, he didn't really care what we did, as long as we were out. But, Darin worked at a local dinut store overnight and usually got home after 4am, so he was pretty tired every morning. One morning Dad had yelled at Darin to get his a** out of bed. Darin, thinking Dad had left (his eyes were still closed) shot up a one-finger salute when enough time had passed. The next sound he heard was my Dad standing over him saying, "what's the f*** you for, son?" It looked like Darin was about to take the same treatment usually reserved for me and I just ran out, I don't know what happened after that. Dad usually pushed Darin around, whereas he usually punched me or slapped me. John was not his son, so he did not touch him at all.

As I think back on it, I do not know why we snuck out. Even though we were grounded, Dad made us leave the house every day. I will have to see what Darin remembers, but I digress. We left and as stealthily as teen boys are capable, we ran down the hill. Our plan was brilliant. We would run to Darin's girlfriend's house, then on to his work to pick up his check which would fund the run to the great state of California, enhanced by my five finger discount. Arriving at Darin's girlfriend's house filled us with confidence in the plan. So, we ate some lunch and made sure we had everything we needed in our pillow sacks which made us suspiciously look like hobos (no kidding). Keeping to backroads and in the trees as much as possible, we made our way to Darin's work. We ran through the nearby forest to an area behind the building and made our plans. "Wait here," Darin directed, "I will go get the check and we will head out when I get back." John and I nodded our agreement and crouched in the trees as Darin made his way across a parking lot and into the back door of the building. We waited. We waited some more.

After about 15 minutes, a police officer we all knew walked out the same door and into the parking lot, seemingly scanning the treeline. "Hide and keep quiet!" John whispered to me. Maybe they hadn't seen Darin. Maybe she was just there as a part of her normal routine. All of this was running through my brain as I tried to come up with a sufficient lie to tell to get us away if Darin was caught. "Boys, come on out, it's over" the officer called. Reminding myself that John had told me to keep quiet, I almost missed him walking into the clearing to give himself up. And our grand plans cmae to an end in just a few hours. The officer put all three of us in the back of her car and took us to the station.

When we got to the station, it only took about 10 minutes before our parents arrived. My Dad did not ever understand why I left, I was the one who did not get in trouble. But at that point in my life, belonging was more important than anything. I was never able to adequately explain that for him. Dad let the officers know that Darin was 16, and if he wanted to go, Dad would let him. I saw them lead Darin out and he went to live with his girlfriend (I will never know how he got her mom to approve of that, she was 14). Patti told the officers that John could go too, but he opted not to (he was 14). No one ever gave me an option, so I never had to know what I would do. It was in shame and fear that we rode home with Dad, but it didn't really matter. I don't even remember getting grounded, but I may have been. In any case, within a few weeks I had begun pre-season football and begun dating a very nice young girl named Brenda. Brenda's parents had a property with horses, and Brenda would ride all over town on her Appaloosa. We were the same age and she was pretty and she liked me, what more could I ask for? A few weeks later, we began High School together. Darin moved home shortly thereafter.

a little prayer request

Hey, all! I have a little request for you, if you have the chance can you pray for an important meeting I have tomorrow? Some of you know what it is, and my hope is that I will be able to share more openly soon, if all goes well. So, pray that I have peace in the meeting and that I purport myself well and that God's will be done. Thanks a bunch!

BTW the meeting is at 12:00 noon

Part XXI

John was a really good baseball player. I believe he had played in the national league world series a few years before this and he sort of shined in our little town. Darin had, and still has, that kind of general athleticism which allows one to be good at just about anything they try and he has the determination to succeed at whatever he lays his hands to, so he was a pretty good ballplayer also. Although I had always done relatively well at football and most recently, wrestling, I am not much of an athlete and did not try out for baseball in the summer of 1981. But I went to their games. One day, at a practice for John's team, I was asked if I wanted to play too and I agreed, though I was not very good. The next game was a few days later and when I showed up, the other team was short a player and the coach just gave me to that team. My first time up, I hit the first pitch for a double, played second base and performed okay. Everyone was a little surprised that I did okay, but I played a lot of video games which increase your hand-eye coordination and would help John practice, so I knew how to do some things by watching him. I was never going to be a real ballplayer, but that year was fun. At the end of the season, Darin and John were both chosen to be on the area all-star team who went up to the state championships in Ft. Collins. I did not make the team and did not go.

After that, and about six weeks after their wedding, my folks decided to go on their honeymoon. I think even this year they went fishing for their anniversary, perhaps in memory of the camping and fishing trip they took for their honeymoon. Darin was 16 and John and I were both 14 (though John was 4 months and one grade older than me). It was the first time that the three of us had been left alone in the house. Darin and I had been left alone a few times, but not for a weekend and not as teens. We immediately started planning the party. The folks left Friday night and would not return until Sunday night, but that first night we could not find anyone to come over. Then Darin called a friend of ours, Colleen. Colleen told us that she was spending the night at our friend Ingrid's house and that they would "camp out" in the back of their house and they would invite another girl named Lisa and we should come over. So we all went over to their unfenced five-acre lot and near the border of their property (close enough to see, not close enough to discern), the girls had erected a tent. This was the most staged make-out ever in the history of teen make-outs. Darin chose which girl he wanted to be with, then John, and I was with whoever was left (nice manners, huh? it didn't even occur to us that the girls might have ideas of their own). At some point, Darin said he needed a conference outside and told us he wanted to "switch" so we did. A little later, one of the girls called for a "switch" also. In the end, we made out with all three of the girls and they did with us. I don't want to give the wrong impression, this was a lot of kissing but really nothing more. No heavy petting and definitely no skin contact, I chalk it all up to experimentation with some friends. There was never any weirdness between any of us and none of us ever tried to hook up with the other girls again, I became good friends with Colleen trough Drama.

At around 4am, we headed home. We felt we had a great adventure and chuckled and joked with one another as we traipsed through a sliver of the Pike National Forest which provided a shortcut home. As we walked up our dirt road to our house, we saw the most unexpected thing, our parents car in the drive. As quietly as teen boys are capable, we unlocked the door and crept inside. Darin whispered, "Maybe they got home late and did not notice we were gone. Lets go to bed and keep quiet about it." From the pitch black of the stairwell, a loud voice said, "We noticed. We will talk in the morning." I figured we were in trouble, but not too bad. I would probably get grounded for a while, but it would be alright. I went in to my bedroom and fell fast asleep.

A few hours later Dad woke me up coming into the bedroom and told me to come upstairs to their room. I saw John going back into his room and Darin sitting there and realized that they let me sleep while hey interrogated the other boys. When we got into thte room, Dad said, "Tell me what happened." And I spilled it, I mean all of it, the party planning, the trip to Ingrid's, the making out....all of it. They said Darin and John did not fess up but told them we had gone camping. Since I had told the truth, I was not going to be punished. To be honest, this crushed me. It set me apart from my brothers, the only friends I had, and made me feel like a rat. I was trying to come clean with what I had done and had ratted them out. I walked down the stairs to find Darin and John looking at a map. At first they rejected me for ratting them out, but eventually Darin said my shoplifting ability would help on the journey. We were running away and planning the trip from Colorado back to San Jose CA. It seemed we were gearing up for another adventure.

Ah, the joy of blogging!

Apparently, my cousin found my blog. It is okay, I never tried to hide it, but based on how I feel about my upbringing and my family, it was bound to bruise some folks. That was not my intent, but I am telling the truth. Many of my reflections are my opinions, but they are true to my experience and my perspective. I have often said, both in the blog and in person, that I can not be certain that everything is true. I can only be certain that this is how I remember it, others may remember it differently.

My cousin is very upset with me because of some things I blogged about at the time of his Mom's death. It is my opinion that he is not reading the whole passage, I also said nice things about her but was mostly relating the fact that I have a hard time grieving. I attribute some of this to my opinion of her, but some of it is just an immense failure of mine to feel much when people die. I do not hold this out to be good, but it is something I am trying to deal with in the open.

Additionally, I have struggled with my family's culture since about the time I became an adult. Greg's comments on the blog are in a pattern which has become well-known and documented. Greg is, to all my knowledge, a good man who has made a few mistakes, but I don't think he has made as many as me. The truth is that as close as we were as kids, as much as I feel he is like a brother, we have not had much contact in a very long time. I think my opinion is irrelevant to this situation. Greg will hold onto whatever makes him feel better. Anyway, it was not my intention to hurt anyone. Based upon the vitriol I heard from other family members, I expect some kind of nastiness to ensue, perhaps it will not. There is a reason, not his fault that I do not call and try not to contact my Mom's family. I love them and wish them the best, and I thank them for the things they did which were nice. I admire the few cousins who have escaped the family culture and gone on to lead healthy lives, but I don't want to talk to them either. I will if necessary, I am not avoiding a conversation. I have a new family (my wife, my kids, my mother-in-law) who are loving, honest and supportive. I only get pain from dealings with the family I grew up with (except for Darin who is still one of my best friends and true confidants), I only have enough energy to repair the relationships with my Mom and Dad. The rest is too much work, as well as too much "watching my back."

In the end, like everyone else I am a broken person. If you are offended, I am sorry for that effect, but not sorry to have told the truth as I know it. I decided before I began this blog that I would write the truth, even though I knew it might cost me some relationships.

PS - I must ask...."the author of this blog has hurt many people through his writings", which many people are those? I intentionally do not use last names, nor even my name and my readers don't know the family, so it causes no harm. Up to this point, I did not think anyone in the family read my blog. I am not sure what harm you think is being done.

chapter one

Jack woke up to the sound of the buzzing alarm with a deep sigh of melancholy. To most people, it was another day. But, to Jack it was a special day. Not special in the good way, special in a day to remember things of the past. Most of his friends would not remember that today was his wedding anniversary, but Jack knew it the moment he looked up at the clock. He just laid there for a few moments before getting up the energy to get out of bed. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of energy just to get up lately, but he made his way to the bathroom to start up his day.

As Jack stood brushing his teeth, he contemplated that today would have been his eleventh wedding anniversary. But, Janine had left him almost three years ago and in an ironic (and most surely unplanned) twist, had remarried last year on the exact day of Jack and Janine's wedding anniversary. Jack did not so much dislike Carl, Janine's new husband, as loathe his very existence. Janine had originally left him for a co-worker, but that did not last. She had told him that her infidelity (his words, not hers) was not the cause of their break-up, just a symptom. Jack was not sure, but he thought it was a little more than just a symptom.

The last three years had been rough. Jack was a deacon at his church, but was unceremoniously discharged from that status so he could "get his family in order." His partner in teaching a Bible study had told him to take a break to "heal" but had picked up a new co-leader the very next week. He still felt like an outcast, the "Christian Divorcee." He now only attended a Sunday morning service, and sat alone. When his daughter Madison no longer showed up with him, no one even asked where she was. After remarrying, Janine had requested full custody since her family was more secure. Her argument was that she was the better parent because she was married. It did not hold sway with the family court that Janine had said she no longer wanted to be a Christian. It was ironic at best that they granted her petition.

Jack was so lost in thought that he almost missed the phone ringing. He walked into the bedroom and picked it up. "Are you coming?" Madison asked. Although only ten years old, she had a tone now which Jack had always though only teenagers used. "To what?" he said. "Dad" she intoned with far too longof a vowel sound for his liking. "Well," Jack tried to hide his attitude, "you asked me. I guess I will be there." "Good" she said, and hung up the phone. "Okay honey, I love you" he said to the emptiness on the other side of the line. Taking all of his day in, Jack had forgotten that he had been invited to the celebration party for Janine and Carl's first anniversary. Originally, he thought it was all a big joke, but Janine had asked him to think of Madison. Lord, was the woman obtuse or intentionally cruel?

Jack ate some cereal and thought about today's schedule. He would go to church, then to lunch alone and in the afternoon make nice with his wife and her new husband. The day was shaping up to be a real hum-dinger. For the first time in his life, Jack seriously considered becoming an alcoholic; not drinking, but drinking to excess so he could act any way he wanted and everyone could just say, "poor Jack, he's a drinker." Jack knew it didn't work that way and was not entirely certain that anyone would notice.

a tale to be told

I have stories which go through my mind every day and tales which I feel need to be told. I am not sure if I have mentioned it before but a few weeks back I was given a gift during our Thursday morning men's group. We were discussing projects we never finished and many of the guys talked about gifts they were given which they had to put together which have sat in the garage for years waiting to be assembled (if you are thinking of getting me a gift, how about not giving me a chore =) ). I began to talk about how uncomfortable I am when I open gifts because I don't really know how to react. I don't know how to show appreciation for what I have been given. As a group, the discussion boiled down to this: If you want to show that a gift has value, use it. It is your way to show that you appreciate the giver and the gift. I was struck by the irony in this.

I am a story-teller. It is where my passion lies and where my gifts lie. It is probably my greatest strength and, when twisted, my greatest weakness. But I throw most of my stories away. What does it say about how much I value the Giver and the gifts He has given me, that I hide them, throw them away or at the worst times, don't use them at all. I am feeling particularly convicted on this point, because I wrestle with stories which arise out of other people's problems and recently there has been a theme which I have heard over and over in other people's stories which have really touched my heart. Recently, every story I hear seems to have something to do with the struggle in today's society to just make marriage work. I have heard stories of lack of commitment, lack of honesty, lack of fidelity, lack of common goal, lack of a lot. At this juncture, I don't hear a lot of the good stories.

Here is my quandary: which story do I write? There is the story I keep hearing of the struggle of marriage, but there is also the story which needs to be told of the joy of commitment, honesty, fidelity, purpose. Which helps more? WHich is more of a salve for people's hearts and struggles? In order to not throw them away, I will begin a story here if I can just figure out the way to go with this story. What would you like to hear? The commonality of struggle? The pursuit of commitment? Perhaps a combination?

Part XX

Arriving in a new state was not particularly unusual, but at that age, I thought everything would be just like California and it was not. Not worse, not better, just not California. I began school at Woodland Park Junior High on March 30th, 1981. Some have asked why I remember this date so well. The following story should inform.

My folks took me down to enroll in the morning. My brother, Darin, was in the 10th grade at the High School and Patti's son, John, was in 9th grade. At this time the High School and the Junior High were separated by some 30 feet and there were some HS classes in the JH and some JH classes in the HS. In a town with a population of 4000 people, the HS had 600, the JH 300 and the elementary (just down the hill) about 800. We nearly outnumbered the adults in town. But, it was to the JH that my Dad brought me and signed me in. Something was going on with the couselor, so Dad left them to decide classes for me and headed off to work.

There was quite a buzz right after he left and no one was paying me much attention, when I looked over to the library (which was not in a room but was built sort of in the middle of a great area just past the offices) a woman was wheeling a television so more people could see it. The people in the office told me I could just go watch if I wanted and we would get me signed up for classes later. When I walked over to the library and took a seat, I found out what all the hub-bub was about. Our new President, Ronald Reagan had been shot and was at the hospital. It was a noted moment in history and so it is easy to pinpoint the date.

As I got connected at the school, there were really very few people who treated me poorly as an outsider. Much like today, in 1981 Colorado had a great number of transplants from other states, so being new was not that unusual. Later on, it was my lack of good hygeine and social graces which caused me to lose esteem in the eyes of my peers but I don't remember ever being accosted for being new. On top of this, Darin had been here since the beginning of the year and John for a month, so I am sure people were not certain our family was done bringing folks into the school. Initially, many of the more popular kids in the 8th grade actually sort of took to me and that is who I hung out with, but I picked up friends across a wide spectrum.

That is where the rubber hit the road that summer, when I had to decide what type of a person I would be. I wish I had chosen better. There were two girls Kenit and Tabitha, who had taken to me and we would tlak and hang out. I really thought they were fun to be around, very intelligent and interesting. We weren't interested in one another romantically, we were just friends. One day that spring, one of the more popular girls came up to me after seeing me hang out with them and asked, "What are you doing with them? Don't you know that they're dorks? You can't hang out with us and them." I was in a predicament. It is these kind of choices which spring all of a sudden upon young men from 12-25 years of age which define who they will be as men. I had choices. I could tell the girl that I was just goofing. I could tell her that I choose my friends and whatever group I hang out with does not. I could try to get her to see the qualities which I easily identified. Or, I could act like a coward.

Hi, my name is Chris and I am a coward (everyone, "Hi, Chris!"). The next day Kenit called me at home to see if I wanted to hang out. My dad went to hand me the phone and loud enough so she could hear it, I said, "just tell her I am not here, I don't want to talk to her." It must have crushed her to be so rejected by a friend, to see that someone you liked hanging out with had no backbone. They were nice girls, kind girls, the kind of people who make you better for knowing them and I discarded them to be more popular. Also, it didn't work. Within a week or two, the group knew they could make me do what they wanted and this made me weak and not worthy to be a part of the group. So, I was relegated to the netherworld of not cool enough to be popular and not quite dorky enough to fit in there either. I had shown that I was not someone to be trusted and so, not someone to build a long-term friendship with.

From that point until a few years later, I had acquaintances and girlfriends, but never friends. Well, except for my brothers. John became my brother on June 6, 1981 when my dad and his mom hitched in a ceremony at the local First Baptist church. The three of us boys were the only attendees I remember, but there may have been a few more. Dad and Patti have few friends at any given time, prefering a type of solitary living where they only count on each other. They still live that way today and are still married. It turns out that Dad's third marriage was the charm. Who would have figured?

when the arrogance hits the fan

So, I am reading how the "leading evangelicals" met today in Denver and decided to back McCain. Except there are a few names I recognize, but none would I consider a leader in evangelical circles. My favorite quote in the story was by some guy who said, "the only evangelicals who will vote for Obama are the ones who don't read their Bibles." This type of statement shows everything that is wrong with people in America who call themselves evangelicals. What a moron! Oh, no! Don't talk about issues, don't talk about ideas, never talk about how you came to a conclusion. Just tell people they are bad Christians if they disagree with you. ACKKK!!!!!!

Sorry, I needed to vent.